A Huntress' Dream
by hobbitgrl
Summary: The Batman wrestles with his unwanted feelings for Huntress, while she recoups at Wayne Manner.   Basically I decided Batman and Huntress needed some sexy time, so this all an elaborate plot casing for smut.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm so sorry to all the NCIS fans out there who are following me as an author, for this not being NCIS fic. But anyone that knows Batman knows there can never be enough sexy time fic where he is concerned!

**A Huntress' Dream Chapter 1: Sometime after the events of No Man's Land**

There were too many of them. She knew as soon the fight started. If she were lucky, they would leave it at a beating. If she weren't lucky, well, she'd faced worse. There had only been five when she dropped into the alley behind them. Five medium sized frat boys harassing two teenaged girls. Helena didn't know if they were going to take it past harassment, but she wasn't going to stay on the roof and find out. The girls would recover from a scary threat; they wouldn't from sexual assault.

She dropped down silently behind them, crossbow in one hand, bolo in the other. Stalking up behind them, she dropped the first one with a single blow-spinning she kicked the second in the chest, knocking him back into the third. Keeping her eye on the fourth and fifth she told the girls to run. They didn't hesitate. Lifting up her crossbow she pinned the last two in her sights.

"Bad news boys," Helena said, "it's time for a lesson in manners."

"Who are you supposed to be?" the one farther back sneered. "Huntress or something?"

"Or something," she said mockingly, dropping into a battle stance and preparing to attack. That was when the rest of the gang came up behind her.

Stupid. She was trained better than that. You always checked for doors, stairs, shadows, anything that could hide someone. But it was late, and she was tired. And now there were well over fifteen young men swinging at her with fists, planks of wood, and at least one hammer. She would be lucky if they just beat her.

And she'd turned off her com link. She had just wanted some quiet. Some time without Barbara watching silently. This was how superheroes died.

The hammer connected with her back, just to the left of her spine; definitely some broken ribs from that swing. A fist caught her jaw and her teeth slammed together and as her head flew to the side. Someone kicked out her knees and then she was on the ground, more kicks breaking more ribs, her arms trying to shield her head.

She could smell the stink of the alley-urine, vomit, and garbage. She could hear the men panting above her, laughing with each other and jeering as each took turns kicking her as hard as they could; they cheered every time someone landed a particularly solid blow. Then she was being rolled over, she couldn't move, could barely breathe, did she have any solid ribs left? And someone was straddling her, pushing her hands away from her face-pinning them to either side of her head.

There were too many of them. Please let them just laugh at her and leave. Please don't let them do anything else.

The man on top of her left her arms free while he reached down for her chest. His mistake. Helena now knew they weren't going to stop at a beating, so it was time to go out fighting. Who cared what they did to her when she was dead, but she cared a lot what they did to her while she could still fight. She jabbed one finger into his eye and would have grinned if she still could when he screamed. She hoped he never used that eye again.

He reared back in pain and she pushed him off of her. She tried to hop up, but the broken ribs wouldn't let her. She had enough time, though, while the rest were stunned by their friend's screams to slowly push herself to her feet. While he kept screaming, she used the distraction to break the jaw on the guy closest to her, and crack the sternum of second. The rest caught on, then, and that damn hammer landed on her thigh, nearly knocking her leg out from under her.

She just had to get away, she just had to get far enough away that it wasn't worth their trouble.

They grabbed her cape, though, and yanked her back, someone punched her in the face and she saw stars but maintained consciousness. She could see the hammer, swinging back for a strike to her head. She hoped those girls were worth it.

Something shot into the hand holding the hammer, and the man dropped it as he screamed. The three men pining her against he wall craned around, looking into the shadows with the rest of the pack. There were only seven or eight left now. She had thinned the pack by half at least. They never would have beat her if she hadn't put her back to that door. Stupid.

More black shrapnel flew from the shadows and three more men dropped cold. Helena's lips twitched beneath the swelling. He had found her. Somehow, he had found her just in time. Damn him. She would never live this down.

The last few huddled together at the back of the alley, the three holding her up letting her drop like a sack of potatoes as they regrouped with what was left of their crew. When the Batman unveiled himself from the shadows they scattered like children running from their worst nightmare. It was over in seconds.

Then he was there, very carefully rolling her over, checking her injuries, taking assessment of her broken bones.

"Huntress," he said in a low voice, "we need to go. Can you walk?"

"For the world's greatest detective," she pushed out, "you're not very bright are you?" And then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

-1Chapter 2

When Helena woke up everything hurt. It hurt to breathe; it hurt to look around the room. It really hurt trying to sit up. Collapsing against the pillow with a groan she decided reconnaissance would be better served from a laying down position.

She was in a makeshift hospital area, but she was definitely underground. She could always feel the weight of the world pushing down on her when she was in the Batcave, and that same feeling…

"Holy hell!" she shouted, sitting up in a rush while her memory of being saved by the Batman drove out worries of her ribs. "Son of a bitch!" Her entire torso throbbed in agony, as she stubbornly refused to lay back down. The Batman had saved her. She was in the his cave. She would be god damned before she would lay here in agony while he gloated over her.

"Broken ribs don't heal faster with movement," a deep voice said from behind her.

"You would know," she replied, trying to breathe around the pain. "You've certainly had your fair share." She was going to stand up. She was going to stand up and walk out of there. She was going to stand up and walk out of there in just one more minute.

"Why don't you lay back down and sleep awhile longer," he said, unfazed. He was always unfazed. It drove Helena nuts.

"I'd just as soon not stay here and be reminded by you of my immense failure as a crime fighter while I'm too doped up on morphine to argue back," she sniped.

"I find it hard to believe you could ever not argue back," he said dryly. She heard him turn around and leave the makeshift room.

He had hung curtains to offer some privacy; it cut her off from the rest of the cave and hid her grimace as she stood up. He had saved her life, and she had just accused him of-well, she had accused him of his normal behavior, but it still wasn't fair, nice, or grateful of her.

As she walked to the edge of the curtain through which he had disappeared, she realized she was in a t-shirt and drawstring pants.

"You changed me?" she said a little too loudly.

"You needed medical attention," came the reply from a little ways off.

Damn it, damn it, damn it she cursed in her head. She was going to thank him. She was going to be gracious and appreciative and not yell at him. Why did everything he do make her scream?

She walked out of the curtained area slowly, and saw the Batman, Bruce, sitting at his enormous computer.

"Compensating?" she mumbled quietly to herself.

"I can't imagine what for," Bruce answered her.

"How could you possibly have heard that?" she asked loudly.

"I hear everything," he told her, "Helena."

He still hadn't turned from the damn monstrosity. She could see files, news reports, and lab results flashing on the various monitors, and she kept her mouth carefully quiet as she hobbled the rest of the way over to him.

"Batman," she said, then waited as he continued to stare at the computer. His hood was down, and his strong jaw was highlighted in the flashing lights of the various screens. His dark hair was longer than he usually wore it, the front locks falling across his forehead. He must have been too busy for a haircut lately. Abruptly Helena felt guilty for her reaction to him when she woke up; he was a good man, and a good fighter. He was exacting, and maddening, but he deserved nothing from her but her gratitude. The men in the alley were going to rape her until she died because she had been too careless to watch her back.

"Bruce," she said in a softer voice, pushing through her awe of him as his full gaze rested on her. "Thank you."

She thought she saw something flash in his eyes, but with Bruce one could never be sure. He was implacable with the mask on, and only slightly less without it.

"You're welcome." His voice rumbled in the cave, and Helena found herself devouring his features. He was a handsome man. Intelligence lit up his eyes, and with two days worth of stubble on his chin he looked every bit as dangerous as she knew him to be. She eye contact first, unable to stand up under that stare. When she was angry at him, fighting with him it was no problem, but now, the pain of her beating vibrating through her body and him staring at her in the dark-she didn't like the intensity. She didn't like what she was feeling at all. This was Bruce Wayne, the Batman. Whatever minor fantasies crept up on her in the middle of the night were never to be shared with the man himself. Never ever.

"I don't mean to be more of a bother, but I need to get home," she said, staring off into the distance of the cave.

"I already called in for you," he said, turning back to the cave. "It's around 7:30 a.m."

Helena turned back toward him too quickly, her surprise at his news making her forget herself; a groan escaped as her bad leg gave out, and her ribs scraped against each other, the pain putting black spots in the air before her.

Bruce was there, catching her before she could fall and do more damage to herself, but he was coming out of the chair, and she was falling, half her body towards him, half still facing back towards the cave. Unable to keep his balance and keep hold of her, Bruce fell back into his chair, carefully catching Helena in his lap.

For a handful of seconds she couldn't move; she could only try to breathe as she waited for the pain to recede. Again. As awareness came back Helena realized she was in his arms, on his lap. She made a mad scramble to get up, only to find herself held fast.

"You need to move slowly," he said, his irritation apparent, "and you need to not fall down."

His voice rumbled in his chest, and through Helena. He smelled good for having been out fighting crime all night. And he was big, so much bigger than she had ever noticed before. How had she missed it? But his chest was huge, and she realized she wouldn't be moving until he let her. She stood a chance when she was in prime fighting condition, but right now-right now she could barely hold herself up, let alone escape the iron bars of his arms.

She sat there, half reclined against his chest, her right hip snuggly tucked against his front, and felt something digging into her. For a moment Helena couldn't breathe, couldn't so much as blink. There was no way that was his-Bruce moved and she felt the bite of hard plastic. Letting a breath out, Helena couldn't decide if she was happy it was his utility belt, or horribly disappointed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Helena looked around her empty apartment and wished she could stop thinking about Bruce Wayne. Alfred had dropped her off, the worst of her injuries healed and the rest covered up with makeup. Bruce had told her principal she had the flu; all of her sick days were gone, but she supposed that was better than showing up with two black eyes, swollen lips, and a split cheek. She could hide the broken ribs and the bruises that painted her body, but she couldn't do much with her face. There wasn't a particularly good excuse for looking like she'd been beat to hell.

It was Friday night now, in two more days her face would look fine-even to the probing eyes of school children. The makeup covered up the bruises sufficiently, but it would be better in a day or two. Her constant thoughts about Bruce Wayne, though, there was no answer to that she could come up with.

He'd hovered over her while she recovered. Sometimes achingly gentle and patient with her; sometimes short tempered and obviously put out. She'd found herself sneaking glances at him whenever his attention was held elsewhere, and asking Alfred about him when she had no reason to invade his privacy while she recovered. Being saved and tended to by him was wrecking her psyche; this was the Batman after all. The man for whom it was never enough. The slave driver and impossible grump. The figure she and Dick had mock toasted before passing out cold. A drinking spell he had driven them to.

And now she was in her apartment dwelling on him, remembering his face. The face without the mask; the handsome face of a man in peak physical condition. The body she had felt for just a second when he caught her; there had been more coiled power in him then any other man she'd known.

He hadn't said anything about her mistake; it was as if he'd known that she knew she fucked up. Maybe he was just that good of teacher that he knew when to stay silent. Whatever the case his silence hadn't helped either; if he'd berated her, been his usual annoying, overbearing self she could have fought him. Would have fought him. But instead he was quiet, unreadable, almost…likeable.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Helena repeated as she dropped to the bed and put her head in her hands. This wasn't a fantasy. This was a god forsaken, old school crush.

"I have a crush on Bruce Wayne," she told her empty room. "How can I have a crush on him? This is not good. This is so not good."

"There are probably worse things," his voice said from her balcony.

Helena let out a very unsuperhero-like yip as she spun around. He had picked her balcony doors and was crouched on the waist-high wall, peering at her from the darkness of the night.

"What are you doing here?" she screamed at him.

"Checking up on you," he replied. He still hadn't moved. He was perfectly still, perfectly implacable as always, his face impassive.

"You didn't…that is, you don't…" she was stammering. He had heard. He heard her admission. She blushed furiously and thought she saw the edge of his mouth turn up the slightest bit. It was gone as soon as it appeared, but she sure as hell hoped he had a sense of humor. He'd never had one before, but this was a time for prayers.

"I'm fine," she mumbled. "I'm fine, I mean. I mean, I'm fine. Shit. Shit shitty, shitty shit." Dear gods make it stop.

"I need a date," he said, still poised motionless on her balcony wall.

"What?" she said a little too loudly.

"Bruce Wayne needs a date," he amended. "To a ball. Tomorrow night. I don't have the time or the patience for a playboy bunny right now."

"Oh-okay," she stuttered, still confused.

"Alfred will pick you up at eight." And then he was gone.

"Wait!" Helena called out after him, but he had already disappeared. "You never even asked me. Jerk."

She fell back on her bed and stared at her ceiling for a long time.

"I have a hell of a crush on Bruce Wayne." She blew her breath out dejectedly. "Shitty shit, shit."

Helena spent most of Saturday shopping. She had a formal dress in her closet somewhere, but it exposed way to much skin to cover her bruises. She needed something that covered her torso without making her look like in-bred Victorian royalty.

She found a black number that was perfect. The back was high, the collar rising to the base of her neck, with long sleeves and a plunging neck line. The front plunged, stopping just below her sternum and revealing enough of her chest to keep the dress from approaching anywhere near dowdy. She knew with the right jewelry no one would be looking at her face long enough to notice all the makeup she would be wearing.

Alfred arrived at precisely eight o'clock, and Helena spritzed some perfume on, very lightly, before heading down to the car.

"Very beautiful, Ms. Bertinelli," Alfred complimented her as he opened her door.

"Thank you Alfred," she replied with a smile. The car was comfortable. Simple and expensive, just like anyone who knew Bruce would expect. They arrived at Gotham Towers and joined the cue of awaiting celebrities.

When Alfred pulled up to the red carpet, Helena took the warm male hand that waited to help her out of the car, and smiled into Bruce's eyes as light bulbs flashed. He put his arm around her and waved to the cameras, escorting her inside.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said in his best playboy voice. "An interesting dress."

Interesting her ass. If the dress didn't fit so snugly, she would have worried that a sneeze would free her girls from the very wide neckline that seemed to barely hold them in.

"It seemed the best choice in light of my," she paused, looking for the word, "week."

"I'm going to kiss you," he told her, still smiling as they reached the top of the stairs. "I need to throw some grist on the gossip mill."

"Okay," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as breathless as it felt.

Without another word Bruce Wayne swung her back, his strong hand supporting her at the base of her neck, and placed his warm dry lips on hers. Helena closed her eyes, and went ahead and enjoyed it. She figured she could write it off as playacting if he got suspicious.

She opened her mouth at his urging, and nearly exploded when his tongue plunged into her mouth. He scraped lightly across the top of her mouth as he withdrew, pulling her back up, grinning like the idiot millionaire he was supposed to be, and escorting her inside. Helena felt her legs wobbling in her heels, and was exceedingly grateful women didn't show arousal as obviously as men.

It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

-1Chapter 4

The party was an infinite torture. Bruce was constantly touching her, kissing her forehead, her cheek, even her lips a few more times, but never with the same passion as that first kiss. Her body was vibrating with arousal and Helena had never been so happy Bruce was without Superman's super powers as now. She kept drinking Champagne to calm her nerves, and by the tenth glass the ball was finally starting to feel like a party instead of some private hell created especially for her.

By the time the torturous outing was over, Helena was concentrating very hard on not stumbling. She knew Bruce Wayne's normal dates stumbled, but she would damned if anyone confused her with Betty Boopsalot from his last outing.

"I'm going to have nail marks if you keep digging into my arm," he whispered wickedly into her ear.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't want to stumble. These are four inch heels."

"And you've had ten glasses of champagne," he replied with a grin. "At least."

"You're lucky I showed up," she said looking into his eyes, "honey."

He guided her carefully and slowly out to the pick up, keeping his arm around her as the waited for Alfred's turn.

"You know," she said, then paused to hiccup, "I've never seen you smile so much."

"Part of the act," he told her.

"Yeah I know," she said dismissively, then hiccupped again, "but what I mean is, it's nice. I think you would smile more, if, you know, you smiled more."

"Undoubtedly," he replied. She hiccupped softly again.

"Stupid hiccups," she grumbled.

"I've never seen you this pleasant," he told her, leading her down the steps as Alfred pulled up.

"I'm pleasant. God dammit I'm pleasant!" she recited. He looked at her blankly.

"Name that move?" she asked him, but he stayed silent. "Never mind. Funsucker."

She climbed into the car, thankfully, gracefully, and hiccupped again as Bruce took his place next to her. He shut the door, and Alfred pulled away from the party. Almost immediately she felt him change, shifting back to himself, as he sat still beside her.

"Damn," she whispered.

"What?" he asked. He was the Batman again. Bruce Wayne was put away for the night.

"You're you again," she told him.

"I'm always me," he replied.

"No, you're always the Batman. Except when you're Bruce Wayne."

His reply was silence and she stared out the window of the car as the buildings of Gotham traveled by. He no longer touched her. When his thigh brushed hers during a turn he pulled it closer, keeping it away from her. Like she had the plague.

"Sir," Alfred said, cutting the silence of the car.

"Yes, Alfred," Bruce answered. His voice sounded thick, tense.

"I fear the paparazzi are following us. No doubt they are interested in your latest romance," Alfred told him.

"No doubt," Bruce mumbled. "Helena? Would you be willing to come back to Wayne Manor tonight? I promise Alfred will take you home whenever you like in the morning."

Would she like to spend the night at Wayne Manor? Dear God the universe mocked her.

"Sure Bruce," she told him. "No problem."

Alfred began heading towards the mansion, casually abandoning his course to Helena's apartment. The champagne was buzzing in her brain and she began to fantasize-right there in the car next to Bruce. What would he do if she just kissed him? Would he throw her away? Ignore her? He ignored her already, that wouldn't be anything new. Would he reciprocate?

He liked that she liked him. She would bet her tights on it. How could the thought of kissing Bruce scare her more than the whole gallery of his villains?

When they reached the mansion Alfred pulled up to the front door and Bruce opened the car door, then paused before getting out.

"They probably have telescopic lenses so we'll need to look like we're going in…together," he told her.

"No problem," she said. She was going to do it. She was going to do it and use the paparazzi as an excuse.

Helena steeled her courage as she stepped out of the car, smiling up at Bruce in her best "I'm being seduced by a millionaire playboy" way. Then she did something he was completely flummoxed by. She stepped into him, put her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him for all she was worth.

His arms went around her lower back, pulling her body tight into his, and his tongue assaulted her. She wondered if he was just going with it, playing along for the cameras, but her thoughts scattered. He was an amazing kisser.

Then she felt him. Through his suit, and through her dress. That was not a utility belt. Or a wallet. Or a phone. Or anything but him. She reveled in it, pushing her hips more tightly against his and smiling against his mouth as he moaned. She had aroused the Batman.

And then, because the only she loved more than kissing him was playing with him, she pulled back, turned, and walked into the mansion leaving Bruce standing at the curb.

She had barely made it through the foyer when she heard the door slam behind her, and he was there, behind her, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her, catching her between the hard wall and his harder body.

"Why did you do that?" he growled at her in the darkness.

"It was just for the paparazzi," she cheeked, then boldly pushed back against him. "Excuse me."

Her only warning was his sharp inhale, and then he was on her. Kissing her, his tongue plundering her mouth as his hips ground into hers. There was no paparazzi here, no story, no gossip mill. This was Bruce kissing her because he wanted to. Because he needed to.

Helena dropped her wrap and her bag, buried her fingers in his hair and attacked his tongue with her own.

He reached down and lifted her unto the nearby hall table, pulling her dress up as he spread her thighs and stepped between them. She could feel him through her lace underwear, feel his heartbeat in the heat of her thighs.

He unzipped the back of the dress and peeled it off her arms, before letting her push the tux jacket to the floor, untie his tie, and begin, revealing the expanse of his chest with each popped button. Helena pulled madly at the dress shirt, needing to get it off of him, to feel the warmth of his chest against her newly bared breasts.

He cupped her chest in his hands, the warmth of his palms searing her before playing with them, making her legs clench his hips and her hands grab his arms as arousal assaulted her. He stopped kissing her mouth and began kissing his way down her throat; he seemed to know the exact amount of pressure to apply to make her body spark and explode. Her breath sawed in and out as she grasped for purchase and control.

Reaching down she unzipped his pants and reached in, wrapping her hand around him. He straightened and his neck corded as he tensed, hot in her hand.

"Helena," he growled and she smiled at the his cracking control. He never lost control. She tugged gently and laughed as her hips rocked against him. Except tonight.

He jerked her skirt up to her waist and ripped her underwear before putting his hands on her. Finding the spot that made her back bow, her breasts bare and arched as she ground against his fingers. His mouth claimed her mouth again before he pulled back, finding a condom somewhere and rolling it on.

He kissed her again as he positioned himself and slowly worked his way in. It was too fast, too hot, but neither could slow down. He sheathed himself, his muscles twitching under her hands and she threw her head back in ecstasy as he began to pump against her.

"Bruce," she panted, "harder."

A growl was her only response as he slammed into her, the table crashing against the wall and echoing in the hall. She was making noise, but she couldn't stop herself or control it. Her body was spasming around him and her nails left bloody tracks down his back.

She came an instant before him, clenching him with every muscle and he roared as the thrust one, twice more into her. For the briefest second they stayed like that, frozen in time. Then he pulled out, rolled the condom out, threw it in the wastebasket and rebuked his pants. Helena pulled her skirt down and her dress up, suddenly self conscious.

He turned and started walking away.

"Bruce?" she called after him.

"I don't know, Helena," he said over his shoulder. "I don't know."


	5. Chapter 5

-1Chapter 13

Helena didn't charge after him. She wanted to-God knew she wanted to-but she, maybe more than anyone, understood the futility of fighting with the man. Taking a second to right her dress, she found him upstairs in his bedroom; he had thrown his jacket and shirt on the floor. Alfred was quiet; she wondered if he knew what was going to happen before they did.

It still felt awkward to say his name, even now after what they had just done in the foyer. If anything that only made it more worse. How does a girl have "the talk" with the Batman? It was a situation Helena never expected to be in.

"Dinah was right, you know. You are a good kisser." Five, ten, twenty years from now, Helena would never know why she led off with that.

Bruce didn't move, didn't twitch as he kept staring out the window. Taking a deep breath and trying not to ruin everything more assuredly than she already had, Helena tried again.

"Bruce," she sighed into the darkness. "Bruce, it's okay."

His shoulders tensed at his name, and she saw his hand spasm against the window pane.

"This was never supposed to happen." It was a whisper of his normal growl. Helena had seen him angry, confused, even sad, but she had never seen him lost, so completely unsure of himself that his only recourse was to just stop moving.

Walking up behind him slowly, obviously, she put her hands on his back; she let her hands rest there awhile, let him get used to the feeling of being touched by her.

"Bruce it's okay that it did," she finally said.

He spun around then with the speed that always surprised her and pushed her back to arms length.

"Never again," he said roughly before trying to walk away from her, but Helena was no simpering miss to be scared off. Hell, if he was going to scare her off, it would have been a long time before this.

"No," she said firmly, grabbing him and stopping him. "Whether it happens again will be our decision, but it won't stop out of guilt. I am not a mistake." She said that last staring into his eyes, forcing him to meet her gaze. After another heartbeat Helena gave up the futility of trying to talk to him-when had anyone ever been able to hold a conversation with this man? Slowly, tenderly she cupped his face in her hand. Then, never breaking eye contact, she raised up on her tip toes and brought her lips to his.

The kiss was different this time; there was no attack of tongues or rush to rip each other's clothes off. It wasn't the sort of kiss Helena expected to experience with Bruce Wayne.

It felt like they kissed for an eternity; after an eon his arms finally encircled her, pulling her close to his bare chest. She reached her arms under his, and hugged him to her body; his hands began to stroke up and down her back and finally she felt the zipper of her dress easing down. She wasn't thrown against a wall, or kept off balance by his ferocity this time, but slowly seduced as his fingertips brushed down her back in the wake of the descending zipper.

This was the man Helena knew women fell in love with; no one could resist him when he was like this. The muscles of his chest flexed, his body heating hers as he reached around and down lowering the zipper the rest of the way. Without breaking the kiss he eased the dress off her shoulders, running his hands down her arms, around her back and up again over her bare flesh.

With painstaking patience Helena reached again for his pants; he hadn't bothered to rebuckle the belt and she pushed the ends apart on her way to the button. She let her fingertips brush across his abdomen, taking a moment to appreciate the way his solid abs twitched underneath her touch. Undoing the button, Helena gave the pants a little push, smiling into his mouth as she took the time to realize he wore no underwear. Then she let her fingers wander.

She felt extreme satisfaction when his breath hitched and he pulled back from the kiss, his neck cording while her magic fingers explored; stepping out of his pants, Bruce grabbed her under her ass and lifted her up, walking her to the bed and gently laying her down on her back. She smiled as he lowered himself on top of her, luxuriating in the feel of the comforter beneath her and his warmth on top of her while he began kissing his way down her neck.

Her nipples had already drawn into hard points before his mouth got there; the stubble roughing his cheeks scratched her chest, and his chest hair tickled her stomach as he moved himself down her body. He only spent a second on her breasts, and Helena moaned in protest until his hands began to do some wandering of their own and she lost all higher function.

Opening her legs at his request, she bowed off the bed when he gently slid one, then two fingers into her. After a breath, just as her body adjusted, he lowered his mouth and began suckling while his fingers kept working her. Helena could no more stop her scream of pleasure, than she could keep her legs from convulsing in pleasure. Her fingers fisted the comforter, its softness forgotten as her entire world narrowed to Bruce.

"Don't stop, don't you dare stop," she panted. She thought she felt his smile, but then everything disappeared as her world exploded. Her back arching, she was only vaguely aware of Bruce kissing his way back up her body. Her body was on fire, her entire nervous system lit up like a Christmas tree, and her knees drew up around his hips as she mindlessly sought to be closer.

He pulled back with a growl, reaching into the nightstand for a condom.

"How many girls do you get up here?" she asked in the half second it took him to roll it on.

"Enough," he growled, and shut her up with a kiss.

His fingers began working again and Helena moaned into his mouth, her thighs clenching around his waist and her nails digging into the back of his arms.

He kept the gentle pace. He entered her so slowly she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming in frustration; he laughed at her fevered screams as he began an agonizingly slow rhythm. She tried to force it faster, but he responded by pinning her arms above her head, and using his weight to bury her beneath him with each slow thrust.

It was so different from before, so different than Helena had ever expected to share with this man. Her body over stimulated and her mind overwhelmed with emotion, she felt her eyes began to tear up. She squeezed her eyes shut as her body sought any release from the sweet torture of Bruce's thrusts. The moans that escaped didn't sound like her; they sounded like some desperate animal, some poor suffering animal. He responded by kissing her sweetly, and increasing his speed minutely.

She was going insane. Actually, literally insane. It was too much. He was too much. She threw her head back with a cry, and he responded by latching onto her neck, his chest abrading her with every thrust. It was an eternal torment and as her entire body tightened, she couldn't stop from circling her hips, guiding him with her legs as she frantically fought for control.

He was pounding into her now, the bed slamming against the wall in time with the meeting of their bodies. As she felt it approaching, felt her muscles clenching in time and saw the starbursts exploding behind her lids, Helena screamed with her release, her fingers digging into Bruce's while he went rigid on top of her. Their screams were lost inside one another, and he collapsed on top of her, cradled in her body.

Too soon, he rolled off of her and pulled her up against him. They laid there a long time waiting for their breathing to even out, staring at the ceiling. A long time later Helena thought he had fallen asleep, but then his arm tightened, hugging her.

"Alright." It was all he said. He didn't even look at her when he said it, but her heart soared. A reaction she made sure to hide.

"Alright," she replied. Slowly, they drifted off to sleep.

A/N: See? Merely a plot excuse to get these two in bed together. Of course, the problem with the Batman is that he never does anything quickly which makes pure smut a problem. There might be more depending if real life dissertating allows it, but I hope others enjoy this little slice heaven as much as I do. (Why we couldn't even get a kiss in the comics is beyond me!)

And…I forgot to say that none of these characters are mine even though I wish to god they were.


End file.
